


you were still here

by ShyAudacity



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Basketball, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Sort Of, Withdrawal, its just them coming to each other's rescue, its starts out in the 90s, that's the fic, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 14:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14547213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyAudacity/pseuds/ShyAudacity
Summary: “What? I’m having a good time, don’t hate-.”“I’m not hating,” She interrupts, her tone sly. “I just think people are gonna realize that you’re FP’s little boyfriend if you keep cheering like that.”“Shut up, he’s not my-.”A gasp from the people around him and the referees blowing their whistles catch Fred’s attention. He whips his head around and realizes that FP is down on the court, twisting at the waist but not getting up.Shit. Shit, something’s wrong.ORA few times that Fred and FP came to each other's rescue.





	you were still here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jugheadjones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/gifts).



> It took me too long to write this, tbh. This is for Julia because she deserves it. 
> 
> Unbeta'd.

  1. **Senior year.**



It’s late January and almost uncomfortably warm in the gymnasium because it’s just that packed. There’s four minutes left in the third quarter and FP is absolutely killing it. He’s stolen the ball from the other team nearly a dozen times. No one has been able to stop him; the whole school is cheering him on, especially Fred Andrews.

“C’mon, FP, you got this!” He shouts. Fred already knows that his voice is going to be shot to hell tomorrow from all the yelling that he’s been doing, but that doesn’t bother him. He’d spend the rest of his life being hoarse if it meant he got to cheer for his best friend as much as he pleased.

FP is playing point guard. He approaches his defender, fakes left, ducks right- sinks a beautiful lay up and the whole crowd cheers.

“Yeah! There we go- whoo!” He claps loudly, just barely hearing the scoff that Alice sends his way.

He looks over his shoulder at where she’s sitting next to him.

“What? I’m having a good time, don’t hate-.”

“I’m not hating,” She interrupts, her tone sly. “I just think people are gonna realize that you’re FP’s little boyfriend if you keep cheering like that.”

“Shut up, he’s not my-.”

A gasp from the people around him and the referees blowing their whistles catch Fred’s attention. He whips his head around and realizes that FP is down on the court, twisting at the waist but not getting up.

_Shit. Shit, something’s wrong._

Fred gets halfway down the bleachers before he calls back to Alice.

“Al, find a phone- call Mr. Jones, tell him that FP got hurt, go now.”

He watches her hair fly behind her as she runs out of the gym. Fred pushes his way through the teammates that have crowded around FP, then falls to his knees next to him, a hand grabbing FP’s shoulder out of instinct.

“What’s the matter? What happened?”

FP groans, grabs Fred’s wrist and squeezes like it’s all he can manage.

“I didn’t even see him,” Tom Keller says, out of breath. “I looked up and he was coming right for me, tripped over my foot or somethin’. Couldn’t catch his balance fast enough.”

Fred looks up and realizes that his right knee is bent at the wrong angle, definitely dislocated. He feels a little sick just looking at it, so he tries to focus he attention on FP who is pale as a ghost, shaking with nerves.

“We can pop it back in,” Coach Simon says from down at his feet. “But it’ll hurt like a-.”

“ _Please_ , just do it already.” FP groans.  

Coach Simon nods and looks up at Fred and Tom. “You two hold him still, alright?”

Tom holds his left leg steady while Fred braces his hands against FP’s shoulders. FP winces when his leg is touched, and Fred puts a hand on his face, grabbing his attention.

“Hey. Just keep lookin’ at me, alright? It’ll be over before you know it.”

He nods, then visibly relaxes as Coach Simon snaps his leg back into place. After Coach wraps his leg with gauze, Fred helps FP out towards the exit. He grumbles under his breath when Fred tries to suggest getting changed out of his jersey.

“What’s it matter what I’m wearing? I have to go to the hospital anyway.”

Fred can’t argue with logic, so he doesn’t try to.

The cold air is a nice change from the stuffy gym. After a few minutes of sitting there, FP’s uninjured leg begins to shake. Whether it’s because of the cold or simply nerves Fred can’t tell, but he places a gentle hand on his knee regardless.

“You’re gonna be fine, FP.”

“Not gonna play again.” He mutters. 

 “Maybe not this season, but there’s always-.”

“No, no, Freddie, you don’t get it. I had scouts coming next week, guys from fancy, big shot colleges that were supposed to watch me play.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

FP shrugs, “I don’t know. I didn’t wanna talk about it too much and get my hopes up- or yours for that matter.”

Fred doesn’t know whether to feel bad that FP didn’t share something so big with him or flattered that his best friend had considered his feelings over something like college. He nods, squeezes FP’s leg a little.

“You’ll figure something out.” He says, trying to be reassuring. He’s about to say more when Mr. Jones’ old Cadillac pulls up, window rolled down.

“C’mon, Forsythe,” He calls. “I don’t want to spend all night at the hospital.”

Fred helps FP up, helps him hobble over to the passenger side then lets the door slam shut. He feels a little weird as he watches the car pull out of the parking lot, but he tells himself that it’s nothing, that he’s just glad FP’s injury wasn’t any worse.

_He’s gonna be fine, he has to be. I don’t think I’d know what to do if he wasn’t around._

***

**May.**

Two weeks before graduation FP Jones shows up at the Andrews house with the beginnings of a black eye, a bleeding eyebrow, and knuckles that are bruised stiff.

Fred can’t say that he’s surprised. He gestures towards the kitchen with his head.

“C’mon,” He says. “Come inside.” 

Fred grabs an ice pack and a bag of peas out of the freezer- he’s making do with what he’s got. He also grabs a ratty dishrag, places it in FP’s uninjured hand so that he can hold it against his forehead.

“You got a couple of hits in,” Fred comments, looking at his knuckles. “He musta really pissed you off this time.”

“Yeah, well, I had to learn how to mouth off from somewhere.”

Fred would laugh if it were any other situation. He tries to meet FP’s eye as he sits down.

“You gonna tell me what he said?”

FP shrugs.

Fred scoffs a little, “I guess I should’ve seen that coming, it’s not like you to-.”

“He called you a faggot.” He mutters.

Fred rolls his eyes, gets to his feet and walks towards the sink.

Mr. Jones, Forsythe Sr., he had never liked Fred much, at least he didn’t act like he did. He hadn’t been able to figure out why Mr. Jones acted so weirdly around him, but now he’s starting to put the pieces together.

“Who cares what he says?”

“I do!” FP snaps. “He doesn’t get to talk about you like that!”

“It’s not your job to defend me, FP.”

“ _Like hell it’s not!”_

Fred stiffens up, crosses his arms as he leans against the counter. It’s always been like this between the two of them, FP being overly protective of Fred despite knowing that Fred can take care of himself just fine. Fred wants so badly to pick his brain sometimes, just so he can figure out why FP is so gung-ho about protecting him.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” FP whispers. “I just- I’m so tired of putting up with his shit. I just wanna get away from him already, feels like I’m never gonna get the chance.”

“I get that,” Fred tells him, sitting at the table again. “Believe me, I do. But just think about it, in a couple weeks we’re gonna graduate. Then we can move out if we want to. No one is keeping us here.”  

“Easy for you to say… at least you’re going to college.”

Fred has to stop himself from scoffing, wants to call FP out for putting himself down over something he couldn’t control. He’s not sure what he could say that would cheer FP up, maybe there’s nothing to say in a moment like this. He spares a glance up at his best friend who has yet to meet his eye.

“We’re going to get out of here someday,” He says, suddenly full of confidence. “Things aren’t always going to be like this, FP. I promise.”

FP still doesn’t look at him, but he does lose his grimace just a little.

Fred counts it as a win.

***

**2003.**

FP rushes into the emergency room, narrowly avoiding running into the door and the nurse walking past him. Fred had called him not even ten minutes ago, a frantic mess as he rambled something about Archie and an ambulance; FP agreed to come without even knowing the whole story, he just knew that Fred needed him.

Fred is sitting there with his head in his hands when FP gets to the waiting room, he fists one of his hands in FP’s flannel once he’s within arm’s reach. It takes him a minute, but Fred finally spits out that Little Archie had an allergic reaction to peanut butter and a bad one at that. Mary is out of town on business and he didn’t know who else to call.

FP sits with him for two hours, an arm around his shoulders and the other atop Fred’s shaking hands. He stays with him even after they’re allowed to see Archie. Said two-year-old is sleeping when they go in, an IV sticking out of his tiny hand, he looks so small in such a big bed.

FP squeezes Fred’s shoulder when he notices him getting teary-eyed.

“He’s gonna be okay, Freddie.”

“I know, I know, it’s just- scared the crap out of me, that’s all.”

FP hums in agreement, unsure of what else he could say to make this easier. A few minutes later, a nurse pokes her head in to say that there’s phone call at the front desk for Fred; he whips his head around to look at FP.

“I- would you-.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll stay here with Archie. Go, it’s probably Mary.”

Fred nods, all but flying out of his seat a few seconds later; once the door is shut, FP scoots his chair closer to bed, reaching his hand out to tuck Archie’s wispy, red hair behind his ear.  

“You got one hell of a dad, you know that kid?” FP says, talking quietly. “He’s the best guy I know.”

***

**Present Day.**

FP Jones is halfway to the Whyte Wyrm when his phone rings on the dashboard. It’s Archie Andrews of all people, sounds scared out of his mind.

_“S-Something’s wrong with my dad. He won’t stop shaking, I don’t know what to do.”_

Three different cars honk at FP as he pulls a U-turn in the middle of an intersection.

FP gets there and runs right upstairs; Fred has lived here since the day he was born, FP knows this place like the back of his hand.

Archie is in the upstairs bathroom, keeping Fred’s head from falling into the toilet. He knows immediately that Fred needs more help than they can offer; Fred is ashen and shaking, arms wrapped around himself like it’s going to help somehow. Archie looks up at him with wide, panicked eyes as he stands in the doorway.

“Archie, go downstairs and call an ambulance, quick.”

FP takes Archie’s place on the floor after Archie rushes past him to find the phone. He tries to keep calm as Fred begins to vomit again, rubs a hand down his back.

“That’s it, big guy, just let it out. Help will be here soon.”

The gagging ceases soon, FP holds Fred against him as he continues to shake. He combs his hand through Fred’s sweaty hair; it takes FP a minute to realize that Fred has been mumbling into his neck this entire time. He hears the word _love_ and his hands go stiff.

“What did you say?”

Fred rasps, “Knew you’d come help, you love me too much to stay away.”

FP’s whole body freezes this time, but he doesn’t have a chance to say anything because Archie is coming in with the paramedics, all but pushing him out of the way.

The next few minutes go by in a haze of worry. The medics maneuver Fred onto a backboard, placing an oxygen mask over his face before they carry him out of the bathroom, and then out of the house.

As the ambulance drives away, FP stands next to Archie and squeezes his shoulder, thinking to himself:

_Stupid idiot, I can’t believe he knew I loved him and never said anything._

**Author's Note:**

> Still not totally sure how I feel about this but I'm posting it anyways.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/Kudos are highly encouraged and appreciated. Have a great day!


End file.
